


Tell Me How You Really Feel

by worrisomeme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, maybe some light angst in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: Crowley’s not quite sure what’s got him so irritable today. Maybe it’s the fact that the humans beat him to yet another evil deed. Nah, he thinks, he’s been taking credit for their work for eons. So long as his bosses downstairs are none the wiser, it makes his life easier this way and so he’s content with it. Maybe it was finding a caterpillar hole in one of his favorite houseplants. Well, that certainly hadn’t helped, but it wasn’t what had caused it.





	Tell Me How You Really Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no post! And I come back with Good Omens, of course I do lol This one is based on a [request](https://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/185897437908/hi-if-youre-talking-prompts-do-you-think-you) an anon sent to [Kedreeva](https://kedreeva.tumblr.com/) on tumblr: "Crowley & Aziraphale where Aziraphale finds out that Crowley REALLY thinks that Aziraphale doesn't even like him? That he just puts up with him because it's convenient? And Aziraphale is horrified because of course he adores Crowley, and he knows Crowley cares about him A LOT. So he feels so guilty about never telling Crowley how much he means to him. So he does."
> 
> Hope you guys like it!!!

Crowley’s not quite sure what’s got him so irritable today. Maybe it’s the fact that the humans beat him to yet another evil deed. _Nah_ , he thinks, he’s been taking credit for their work for eons. So long as his bosses downstairs are none the wiser, it makes his life easier this way and so he’s content with it. Maybe it was finding a caterpillar hole in one of his favorite houseplants. Well, that certainly hadn’t helped, but it wasn’t what had caused it.

Maybe it’s the bloody sun in his eyes, he thinks with an audible hiss, and ponders if it’s time to switch up the style on his beloved sunglasses. Maybe it’s this stupid delicate breeze blowing his stupid hair in his stupid face. It makes him think of a certain stupid angel and how pleased he’ll be about it.

Well, whatever the reason, he’s downright grumpy, roughly pulling his hair into a half-bun, when Aziraphale settles on his right on their usual park bench.

“Good afternoon Crowley,” Zira says, much too chipper for the demon and his sour mood.

“What’s so good about it?” Aziraphale’s face transforms into something pained instantly, and instantly Crowley regrets saying it.

“Well,” the angel starts again, his cheery mood forced and faltering, “this lovely breeze, for one. The smell of summer flowers in the air, for two. Oh! And the pastry I had for breakfast this morning was quite lovely.”

Crowley finds himself annoyed and enamored all at once. “Sometimes I forget how disgustingly positive you angels can be,” he says.

Aziraphale’s smile falls again, and just when it had become genuine once more. “I suppose a beautiful day would be a nuisance for a demon,” he muses, refusing to ask what’s wrong despite his – dare he say? – _burning_ curiosity and desire to help one so dear to him.

“We don’t have to keep doing this, Zira,” Crowley snaps. He’s not sure why his mouth is choosing to spew this all now, but once it’s started he can’t stop. “You don’t _have_ to sully your celestial hands with demon filth. We can call this whole arrangement off at any time.”

A baffled look blends with the hurt one on Aziraphale’s face and Crowley can’t bring himself to look at him. A long moment passes in which he stumbles over words in multiple languages, but finally he brings himself to ask, “Now wherever is this coming from Crowley?”

“My mouth! Or rather, my brain. Or, I suppose, my eyes,” the demon says, already loosing steam as his rambling goes on. “I’m not daft, angel. I know how you really feel about me. I know you only put up with me for convenience sake.”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide and he sputters, his mouth opening and closing around a moment of nonsensical babbling.

“I’m setting you free,” Crowley goes on, unable to stop himself now, the heat leaving his voice more and more the longer this conversation goes on. “I won’t start some kind of war with you just because you hate me. It’s okay to admit it.”

“I _what_?” Zira asks, indignant, finally able to form words again.

“You’re an angel, of course you’d hate a demon like me. Not that I wasn’t an angel once. Not that your lot are all that great. You’re great, obviously, but the rest of them can all fuck off.”

“Crowley, I don’t hate you,” Aziraphale insists, twisting his hands in his lap. He’s so clearly, obviously distressed, not even a single attempt to hide it. And yet Crowley misses it completely. _How could I have been so foolish?_ he thinks. Suddenly he realizes, he’s never told Crowley how he feels.

“That’s very nice of you- “ Crowley starts, but Aziraphale cuts him off.

“No, Crowley, please let me speak.”

The demon stares him down for a long moment, fighting back his own look of surprise, before gesturing dramatically for him to continue.

“Well,” Zira starts, clearly flustered, “first I must apologize. I haven’t been intentionally dishonest, of course, but I suppose if we’re having this conversation, neither have I been clear in my feelings toward you, Crowley.” There go his hands again, wringing in his lap. “And, well, I feel quite a bit of guilt now that I’ve realized it. Of course I know how dearly you care for me, and to think you felt pain, you thought I _hated_ you, and all because I’ve never told you how much _you_ really mean to _me_.”

“Out with it, angel,” Crowley snarls, still desperately suppressing his surprise, his hope. “So wordy, you always beat around the bush. Out with it.” He lost his right to hope when he fell.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, blinking up at him with those _eyes,_ that soft, sweet, shy smile of his, “I _adore you_ Anthony J. Crowley. I adore everything about you. Were I to spend every day of the next six-thousand years with you, it still would not be enough. I would gladly face eternity were you simply holding my hand along the way. It may be a scandalous thing for me to say, but I am foolish and will say it anyway: I love you Crowley. Of course I do. However could I not?”

Now, Crowley does not cry, and screaming wouldn’t quite be a fit reaction here. He wouldn’t know what to do, were it not for centuries spent among the humans, and, of course, so much time spent with a gentle angel. But he does, and he’s foolish, so he holds out his hand.

Aziraphale hesitates, unsure and blushing, but then he delicately places his hand in Crowley’s.

“I love you too, angel,” Crowley says, softly, genuinely, and kisses the back of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading and I really hope you guys enjoyed it!! ^_^ Especially considering I wrote it in I think an hour or so and did no editing lol
> 
> Comments, kudos, reblogs on tumblr, etc. are all _sososo veryvery_ much appreciated!
> 
> And, as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com) were you can send me requests/prompts or we can just chat!<3


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